


Thorin Oafensheild & the Blue Ribbon Winner

by MaltaAndThe7Cats



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo needs a new blazer, Bilbo's had enough of Dwarves, Confused Bilbo Baggins, Dwarf & Hobbit Cultural Differences, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Frustrated Bilbo Baggins, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Lobelia's ugly face, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oaf Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaltaAndThe7Cats/pseuds/MaltaAndThe7Cats
Summary: Bilbo raises the torch even higher and examines as close as he dares.Eh, I guess they cut it a little bit. He's got bangs now. It doesn't look so bad. Looks like he got in a right toss is all. Bilbo walks around Thorin to examine the back of his head."It's not so bad really. It just looks like you've had a row is all. Really, Thorin. It—oh my."





	Thorin Oafensheild & the Blue Ribbon Winner

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first fan fic ever!!
> 
> Actually I take that back. I wrote a Hannibal fic years ago and posted in on Deviant Art and got stuck and never finished it :(
> 
> Anyway. I really hope you enjoy this. I'm a bit dyslexic and always struggled to write but I love it non the less. I envy those of you who can just spit this stuff out Willy-nilly.
> 
> I'm pretty sure the "Thorin gets an shameful haircut and Bilbo comforts him" theme has been done before, but here's my version. Cheers!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

  
It seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

 

The Company had found a cluster of ruins slowly being strangled by the edge of a—well—a rather sinister looking forest if you'd ask Bilbo, that seemed bent on the over-growth of Middle Earth. They thought it'd be the perfect place (read: the only place) to hunker down safely for the night.

 

They were wrong.

 

The trees were so thick together that no one heard the orc pack sneak in. Or at least, that's the excuse they later told themselves. It couldn't possibly have been because every last one of them were so dead tired from four days and three nights of continuous travel that they hadn't the strength to keep watch.

  
No matter.

 

  
The orcs were now thoroughly slain and none had worse than cuts and bruises. But something seems amiss.

 

Let's see, Nori, Dori, Ori

Bofur, Bifur, Bomur.

Filli & Killi.

Oin, Gloin,

Dwalin, Balin

 

 

. . . Thorin?

 

  
Where was Thorin?

  
That's the question being shouted that pierced a sleeping Bilbo's ear. It would seem he slept through the entire massacre. He quickly jumped to his feet and unsheathed Sting.

  
It wasn't glowing.

  
Yep, definitely missed the whole thing. A burglar who slept through his own burglary. How embarrassing. They'll never let him live this one down.

 

But it seems, even though every dwarf is searching, that they still haven't found Thorin. Suppose he could at least help find their fearless leader.

 

  
Their fearless, grumpy, bullying, aggravating oaf of a leader.

 

 

Bilbo tries to snag any dwarf that will stop in their frantic search long enough to tell him just what in the dickens happened. Finally Kili takes pity on him and explains. Thorin was first to be grabbed.

 

It was his shouts that had alerted the Company to the ambush. They were quickly vanquished, but Thorin isn't responding to anyone's calls. Bilbo begins to understand their panic. He has to be within ear shot. If he isn't responding, it means something is very very wrong.

  
Bilbo grabbed a torch and decided he would take the easy (less dangerous) terrain near a bubbling creek. At least if he got lost, he could follow the water back. He made his way down the soggy embankment and trudged along its side.

 

He'd only made it a yard or so when the clear, all too distinct grumbling of aforementioned fearless oaf began intermingling with the equal grumbling of the creek. It seemed they were trying to outdo one another. Thorin was clearly in the lead.

  
There was some type of an under hanging that had developed beneath a fallen tree and it was under this brush that the song of Thorin Oakenshield seemed to be emanating.

  
Bilbo crept along just as carefully as he dared. Oh dear what if Thorin was seriously hurt? Perhaps he should go back for Oin. Yes, that's a splendid idea. Confronting a wounded Thorin alone wasn't high on Bilbo's list of good ideas. However . . .

 

However those moans are starting to sound less like moans and almost like . . . sobs? Is Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror _weeping??_

 

  
Oh now Bilbo really wanted to turn back. But he mustn't. What if Thorin is mortally wounded? What if . . . what if he's dying? Surly only the icy clutch of death could make such a fierce warrior wail to the moon? Oh, oh this is just an awful predicament, Bilbo thought as he toyed with the remaining buttons on his blazer.

 

No.

 

No, he must be brave. He needs to help Thorin himself. If he really and truly is hurt, going for help and then back again is precious time wasted. Ok, you can do this, Bilbo.

 

Just put one foot in front of the other.

 

  
Steady now.

 

  
Slowly Bilbo slinked along the muddy edge. He tried to muster up the gumption to call out to Thorin but he found his voice failing him. Well, best get a bit closer then. Finally near the, er, entrance as it were, Bilbo attempts to make his presence known.

  
*clears throat*

“T-Thorin. Pssst.”

*clears throat*

“You-hoo!”

  
Yes, Bilbo, that's how you address a king. His inner monologue supplied.

 

A rustling could be heard from within.

 

  
“ . . . Bilbo?”

  
A soft and dare he think it, hesitant voice responds.

 

  
“Y-yes Thorin. It's me.” Bilbo fidgets . . .

 

Say something else, you Took!

 

“A-are you alright, Thorin? Are you hurt?” A strangled sob is Bilbo’s response. This was a bad idea. He's not cut out for this. Bilbo begins to turn around.

 

“I can go get help. I’ll just go and get Oin, shall I?”

 

  
“ **NNNOOO**!”

 

  
A few stray, unidentifiable creatures that had been sleeping soundly in the vicinity made there escape into the forest at the eruption of Thorin’s protest. And one slithered it's way over Bilbo’s foot into the icy waters. How nice.

  
After a long silence in which Bilbo found the time to worry off one more blazer button, the rustling of leaves and heavy boots scraping along rocks sounded through the brush. A large hand emerged through the leaves and beckoned Bilbo to enter. With a deep breath and a gulp, Bilbo ducked into the unknown.

  
Raising his torch, Bilbo found the space quite habitable by hobbit standards. A bit on the moist side, but it was roomy and well covered. As Bilbo turned in place he was faced with a lump of fur and leather that held its head in its hands while rocking in a mournful manner.

  
“Thorin? Thorin, are you hurt? Well, yes of course you must be. Otherwise you wouldn't be crying—moaning! Moaning in a-a-a manly—dawrvish manner.”

 

  
“Grrrmbbhh”

 

  
Is that Dwarvish?

 

  
”Thorin.” Bilbo dares to scoot closer. “Thorin the Company is terribly worried for you. We-we thought the worst.”

  
A critical eye peeps through large fingers. Which Bilbo can only assume is accusatory. Because this is Thorin Oafenshield after all.

  
(Ha! Oafensheild!)

  
“I mean, of course you are a profoundly talented worrier and leader. Nobody doubts that!”

*awkward chuckle*

We were just, ah, concerned that, perhaps, quit possibly by luck mind you, that you were somewhat, that is a triffle wounded from your brief encounter with-with the orcs . . . . That you so obviously slain successfully!”

  
*more awkward chuckles*

 

  
There, hopefully Bilbo won't get chewed out for ever questioning the fighting skills of one oafish lout know as King Under the Mountain.

  
Bilbo swings his free arm and rocks on his wet hobbit feet waiting patiently, well not so patiently, for the fearless oaf to respond. Thorin has hid himself again at some point during Bilbo’s rambling and was back to being a mound of fur and leather.

  
“Thorin, you really are starting to worry me now. Please, I'm no doctor but perhaps . . . perhaps I could. . . examine you? For, for whatever it is that's hurting you?”

 

  
“I'm not hurt.”

 

  
“Oh! Oh, well, that's a relief! Now, now you-we can just get out of this dank place and go back to camp and you can let everyone know you're alri—

 

  
“I'm not going back.”

 

  
Bilbo blinked a few times to give him a moment to process this.

 

  
“Not, not going back? I—I don't understand. . . Thorin? Are you . . . Are you saying you're . . . You're abandoning the quest??”

 

  
“They'll never follow me now. It's over.”

 

  
Oh well, this is just preposterous!

  
One measly orc encounter and the King, oh Great Fearless Bullying King Under the Bloody Mountain can't handle it?

(And Bilbo thought he was the cowardly one!)

 

Well, this is most peculiar. Most peculiar indeed.

 

  
Something's not right here.

 

  
There must be something Bilbo’s missing.

 

  
“Thorin,” Bilbo huffs in frustration, “I don't understand. I'm not a dwarf. You're going to have to give this simple Hobbit some explanation because to me, your not making any sense. If your not hurt, why can't you go back? Why won't they follow you?”

 

  
“Because, Master Burglar, I have been defiled.”

 

  
Thorin’s words sound heavy in Bilbo’s hobbit ears. What could that mean? A wide range of atrocities filter through his head. Each one more gruesome and defiling then the last until . . . until Bilbo is all consumed with possible, horrible, abhorrent conclusions.

 

  
“Thorin,” Bilbo asks cautiously, “Come into the light.”

 

Thorin’s one eye peeks out from his large hands again, but this time, this time he looks . . . vulnerable. He hesitates for and agonizing amount of time before he slowly and reluctantly moves closer to Bilbo.

  
Bilbo raises the torch higher to get a better look.

  
It's just so hard for him to see. It's dark and they're under a brush and Thorin is dark.

 

Dark and handso—

 

dark and mysteri—

 

dark and-and

 

 

  
. . . dark.

 

  
Ok, things are coming into focus now. Other than looking extremely disheveled,

(much like Lobelia when she first wakes up in the morning, Bilbo laughs to himself)

Thorin seems fine.

 

I mean, well, there's absolutely nothing wrong with him! And here Bilbo was imagining all these awful things, working himself to a fit. Oh he'll never get back to bed now. No sir!

 

  
“I don't understand Thorin. I don't see anything wrong. What am I looking for?”

 

  
Thorin looks as flabbergasted as a dwarf can possibly look. Why, he looks at Bilbo like hornets are buzzing out his ears!

  
"Bilbo, . . . THEY CUT MY HAIR!!"

 

  
Really? How can you tell?

 

  
Bilbo raises the torch even higher and examines as close as he dares.

Eh, I guess they cut it a little bit. He's got bangs now. It doesn't look so bad. Looks like he got in a right toss is all. Bilbo walks around Thorin to examine the back of his head.

  
"It's not so bad really. It just looks like you've had a row is all. Really, Thorin. It—oh my."

  
Ah, the back. Yes, well. The back of his head is rather bad. There's quite a few pieces missing, and there's some blatant bald spots. He looks like a mangy dog, actually.

 

"I look like a mangy dog!!" The King screams.

 

"Oh I wouldn't say it's that bad."

  
“Bilbo?!” Thorin shouts, exasperated. “I'm ruined! I have been defiled! I have been violated! I have been shamed! I cannot show myself to the company! Not like this! Even if they are my brothers, even if they are my comrades in arms they cannot possibly have anything to do with me now!”

  
Thorin sighs in defeat. “You wouldn't understand, Master Hobbit.”

  
“Well than make me understand!” Bilbo responds, his hobbit patience almost used up. “Explain this to me as though I’m someone who's never had dealings with dwarves and their ridiculous social behaviors before! Because I haven't!”

  
Thorin does what Thorin does best and glares daggers at Bilbo, who firmly stands his ground thank you very much. Thorin closes his eyes and sighs again and proceeds to speak to Bilbo as though he's not completely mentally sound.

  
“You have to understand, Master Burglar, that in dwarven culture, our hair is part of our bodies, like a limb or an organ. It is a part of ourselves. It is not only a sign of who we are as individuals but who we are in regards to our family, our neighbors, our standing with the clans.

Each braid and each weave can have very significant meaning. With them we can tell who is married, who is engaged, who is in mourning; or they signify professions, who is a diamond cutter, who is an ore smith . . .

To be shorn is to walk around naked in front of everyone but worse. To have ones hair removed is to remove their identity, their craft, their family name. You can not prove who you are anymore. You become nothing.

Other dwarves are then required to shun this individual whether they agree with the deprivation or not. No respectable dwarf can be seen with or associate with one who has no standing. This dwarf must then remove themselves until the shame has passed. In other words, until their hair has grown back.

So you see, Master Baggins, they have no choice but to abandon me. And I have no choice but to leave.”

 

  
The silence left after Thorin’s speach is thick as pea soup.

 

  
Now it all makes sense.

Bilbo understands now.

  
Hobbits regard hair in a somewhat similar manner. To have nice curls is to be well groomed and to be well groomed is to be an upstanding hobbit.

But no hobbit would ever think to shave another hobbit! No hobbit would even dream of such a ghastly deed! It would be a humiliation there's no denying that.

But hobbits wouldn't shame the victim! They’d shame the doer! That makes more sense to Bilbo. Even if you did wrong another hobbit the punishment certainly doesn't the call for that kind of bodily violation!

 

Well, Bilbo guesses he will never fully understand, but he can sympathize with Thorin’s plight.

 

“So,” Bilbo says, “that's it? there's nothing that can be done?”

  
“What is to be done, Master Hobbit, is for me to remain and the company to carry on with Dwalin as its leader.”

  
Thorin sits up and looks pointedly at Bilbo.

  
“And since your contract was to me, Burglar, you are free to go.”

  
My word, did the contract really include a clause for this possibility? Underneath all the possible deaths by fire, cinder and dragon flame did it say, “In the event of shearing, contract null and void”?

It probably did, past the part where Bilbo passed out.

 

  
“Well I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to let a bad haircut stop me from following you!”

  
That was a bit bolder than Bilbo was wanting to go but it's out there now and it seemed to move Thorin if the glint in his eyes is anything to go by. But it quickly vanishes.

  
“Bilbo, a dwarf’s hair—”

  
“Yes, yes. Limbs and organs. Look all we've got to do is cover it up a bit and it'll be fine. You dwarves _do_ on occasion change your hair styles don't you?”

  
“Yes but—”

  
“Then let's do that. We’ll just pull the hair over the bad patches and braid it all together!” Bilbo marvels at his own genius.

  
“But . . .” Thorin furrows his brow. “It will be obvious, still, what happened.”

  
“Yes but you weren't completely shaved. Look, you said they would be obligated to shun you, right? If we re-braid it and cover it up, would it be enough to uphold your honor and theirs?”

  
Thorin ponders this for a moment and then begins to lighten up. The embers of that firey glint that were always in his eyes begins to rekindle.

  
“You may understand dwarves better than you think, Master Baggins.”

  
“Well,” Bilbo clears his throat. It’s a bit warm under Thorin’s intense gaze. “I've always like to think of myself as the educated type. Right, let's get to it.”

  
He climbs the rocks behind Thorin and jabs the torch in a groove.

  
“Bilbo?” Thorin begins to tense again as he turns to follow Bilbo’s movement.

  
“Now you just hold still. It'll be easier and quicker if I do it.” He explains while pulling some precious thread from his fraying blazer and holding the strands in his teeth.

  
“I'll have you know,” he says as he begins to gather Thorin’s strands, “That I was the Mid-Year’s Day Festival Blue Shire Ribbon Winner three years running for my mane braiding techniques on the mares for the parade.”

  
He hopes Thorin won't be too offended by being compared to a shire mare but it is where Bilbo got all his braiding practice as a fauntling.

  
Thorin huffs and Bilbo takes that as the dwarven version of a chuckle.

A companionable silence falls over them as Bilbo works several smaller braids into one larger one down the right side of Thorin’s head where the patches were their worst.

Thorin’s stiff shoulders slowly begin to sag and Bilbo feels assured that his ingenuity is approved.

  
“There, all done.” He declares with a knot to the last string. Securing it in place.

 

Thorin gingerly touches the braids as Bilbo retrieves the torch and slips from the rocks.

 

“Best be getting back then, eh? Don't want them to worry any more.”

  
Thorin continues to examine his new braids by touch. A realization that eludes Bilbo is growing on Thorin’s face and he pins Bilbo with those piercing eyes of his. He squares himself and marches the three steps it takes to invade Bilbo’s diminishing personal space. He stares Bilbo down for a solid minute.

  
Bilbo gulps.

  
Then Thorin’s lids lower and he leans down to meet Bilbo. He glances to Bilbo’s lips once and then back again.

  
Oh Yavanna. WhatsHeGoingToDoWhatsHeGoingToDoWhatsHeGoingToDo?

 

Thorin leans in and gently bumps his forehead against Bilbo’s. He closes his eyes and sigh contentedly.

 

 

Bilbo is terrified.

 

 

“You are right, Master Baggins. We should be getting back.” Thorin’s gaze beckons to follow. He heads out of the confines of the brush and marches along the embankment. A bewildered Bilbo has no choice but to tag along.

  
Understanding dwarves, his mother’s bloomers.

  
Thorin looks back once or twice to ensure Bilbo is keeping up in his non-booted feet. As they near dry ground, Bilbo slips on a patch of hidden mud. He's resigned himself to the inevitable, but it never comes. He's caught by a strong and warm arm and met with an even warmer smile. Bilbo is immensely thankful for the twilight that hides the rose in his face.

Thorin never lets go, but moves his large hand to hold Bilbo’s. To steady him the rest of the way, of course.

As they near the encampment, Bofur spots them and announces their presence to the rest of the company who begin to collect in greeting. Bilbo tries to remove his hand from Thorin’s grip but Thorin only tugs him closer, causing Bilbo to loose his balance and fall right into the giant oaf.

  
“Thorin! Thank goodness your alright, lad!” Balin greets. “We were worried something terrible.”

  
“My apology for the delay. I was . . . inconvenienced by some minor wounds but Master Baggins here has helped to recover me to my former self.”

  
As the remainder of the company gather they look on to Thorin’s new hair arrangement, there are a few shocked stares, first at Thorin then at each other to see if each dwarf to his left and right is seeing the same thing as themselves. And then, all as one, they turn their attention to a shrinking Bilbo that just wants to hide in the brush again.

  
It goes eerily quite.

  
“Well,” Balin speaks again. “It's good that everything is in order now.” He turns to the Company which is still staring in amazement.

“Time to start packing lads. We leave with the sun.” He says firmly. That gets things going and each dwarf busies himself.

  
Balin walks over to Bilbo, still embarrassingly attached to Thorin, and smiles fondly.

  
“May I be the fist to say,” he announces with a little bow, “Zil kederer.”

  
Balin continues to remain bowed and Bilbo realizes he's waiting on a response. Bilbo, being the upstanding hobbit he is, would never allow himself to be accused of forgoing formalities. So he bows in return and replies,

  
“I thank you kindly, Master Balin.” Balin seems satisfied with the reciprocation and moves on to pack up his bedroll.

  
“So,” Bilbo clears his throat, “suppose I should be packing up my own things now.” He again attempts to release himself from Thorin’s stone grip only to be hoisted once more into Thorin’s furry side.

  
“Kili!” Thorin shouts. “Pack up Bilbo’s things and put them on his pony and tie it to yours!”

  
“Yes, uncle!” Kili hops to it.

  
“Oh that's awfully generous of you.” Bilbo announces while putting some distance between them. “Best be getting to my pony before it prances away without me, eh?”

  
*awkward chuckles*

  
Boy, his hand is really starting to sweat now.

  
“You're riding with me.” Thorin states as he yanks Bilbo along side him.

  
“What?! I—I, well, I mean that's not really necessary is it? I mean I have my own, and yours will surly be over burdened what with you, and—and your gear and then me, and—Thorin! Thorin put me down! Put me down at once, I said!”

  
But it's too late. Bilbo is firmly planted on Thorin’s saddle and the giant oaf is now seating himself directly behind Bilbo. He wraps an arm around Bilbo’s middle and forcefully squishes them together. Unfortunately the sun is well past the horizon and now his rosy cheeks are on display for all to see.

They're all looking a him strangely now. Nodding and greeting him as though they haven't already been through introductions weeks before.

  
Silly dwarves.

  
He's clearly missing something but it's just one cupboard shelf out of his reach.

He supposes he'll never figure them out completely.

It's best to just go along with it. It's gotten him this far in one piece.

  
As they wait for the rest of the company to mount, he distracts himself with his frayed and ruined jacket by pulling at some of the remaining strings. He practically jumps out of the saddle and said jacket when he hears and feels Thorin’s deep rumbling voice right at the entrance of his ear.

  
”I know hobbits do love their wardrobe, but do not fret the loss of you things, Master Baggins. When I am king under the mountain again I will have a thousand coats fashioned for you. . .

 

It will be an appropriate first courting gift.”

 

**”COURTING GIFT??‼”**

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

  
The End.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably way wrong, but “Zil kederer.” is supposed to mean "welcome fiancé"
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading! As stated, this is my very first fic on Archive,
> 
> and I hope that I entertained you and gave you a good laugh at an inappropriate moment while you were out in public. :)
> 
> Please leave comments, I'm curious what you think


End file.
